daredevilkink | Daredevil Prompt Post #9

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Daredevil Prompt Post #9

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I'm so happy you like this because you literally had me squealing for a bit earlier, because I thought that was the ugliest thing I'd ever written - and boy do I have something for you. I'm not to sure where to go from here, though i do have some ideas, but if you've got any you'd like to see let me know, I'd love to write them out for you

it's not so much the soldier that finds the boy, but the boy that finds the soldier.

it's been three weeks to the day since stick left, and there's a sniper on matt's favorite rooftop - the one overlooking the cafe, where he gets the smell of sweet food and coffee rising up to him on the breeze. if he were there instead of here, lurking a few rooftops over, the only thing he'd get would be the car exhaust from the taxis still patrolling the city this late at night. that and the sniper.
there's something strange about the man. matt has to creep closer to hear it right, but there's something on the sniper's arm - or in it? it's making a noise, a hum like all electronics do, but not quite. more like the whirring of machinery. the sniper's heartbeat is still steady though, and it stays steady even as matt maneuvers his way onto the rooftop over from him.
he's kept himself in shape since stick left, he doesn't want to hear the lecture when stick finally comes back and tells him off for going soft. stick probably wouldn't approve of what matt's about to do now, either, but stick's not here right now. matt knows his neighborhood isn't the best part of the city. it's always been dangerous, and he hopes he's inherited some of that somehow, because he can't let the sniper kill the poor person down below.
matt makes his jump to the sniper's rooftop just in time for the man to shift, finger moving to the trigger, his heartbeat still as steady as can be. matt's shoes hit the rooftop in time to the sniper rifle's muffled crack and the screams rising down below.
it's too late, and the knowledge of it hits matt somewhere deep in his gut, turns into something angry and biting and howling at the injustice, the devil in him aching to escape. and now he's really glad stick isn't here, because he's more than happy to let the devil win.
he can't hear the man's heartbeat, not with the gunshot still ringing in his ears, but the man's boots scuff on the rooftop when he stands. matt runs at him, and that's what seals his fate, because the man doesn't put the rifle away. no, he stands at his full height, the mechanisms on his arm whirring - no, no, he had it right before, not on, in. and before matt can drag himself to a stop and turn to bolt from the strangeness, he's caught.

the soldier grabs the boy by the wrist, metal hand holding on nearly tight enough to break bone.
his mission is over, and his orders dictate that he return to the safehouse and his handlers immediately. the target is dead down below, his rifle is to be left behind to be disposed of by a cleanup crew, and the boy, well, he's a witness. the soldier doesn't know how the boy got past the barricaded roof access, and he doesn't know who the boy is spying for, but that's not his business.
his hand tightens on the boy's wrist. the boy flinches, almost as though he can hear the bone giving way. he doesn't scream. he only twists and turns to fight, grabbing at the soldier's arm and fighting for leverage - and the soldier knows what he is now, he's trained enough of them before. the boy's trained, but not the soldier's work, he'd remember this one, and even though the soldier pins the boy without effort, that makes the boy dangerous - dangerous, not like, not like, who was it again?
and this scrawny boy with a scrap of fabric tied around his eyes is still fighting. the boy has to know that he can't win. the soldier is always aware of his arm, and how the star and the metal shine in the light, and how it always makes those who know better take a step back. the boy is trained, someone must have told him. even if he didn't know before, he has to know now, especially now that the soldier's drawn his knife - a clean, quiet kill, leave him behind to be cleaned up. but the boy isn't stopping, no, he's kicking and thrashing and fighting against the soldier's inescapable grip.

then there's another boy with the soldier's knife at his neck. this one's smaller, and it's a cough that sends his chest heaving, not a desperate bid for freedom. but this boy, this blonde boy, his knuckles are bloody and his lip is split, and he looks like he's been chewed up and spit out already. he's a fighter - yes, this is the one he was thinking of - but not dangerous, he never wins his fights, and the soldier is alway so worried, because that little punk who was too dumb to run a from a fight -

the soldier's attention slips and the boy is gone.
matt runs, but not far. no, only to the other side of the roof, because just when he's poised to jump and make a break for it, his head tilts. the sniper's heart is beating too fast. he's still standing where he'd had matt pinned, the knife fallen from his hand and laying forgotten at his feet. the man's just staring at him, and matt would look over his shoulder if he didn't know any better, because matt gets this sick sensation in the bottom of his stomach that this man isn't looking at him - there is something very wrong with this man.
something snaps in the man, and his heart is no longer the racing, crazed beast it had been. it steadies, and the man stands straight and tall and looks at matt, and not what he'd been seeing before.
the man is fine now, matt can leave without always thinking about how he left this man - murderer, but still a man and a sick one - how he left this man behind when matt might have been able to help. but there's something in how the man steps closer, mechanisms coming to life again, that keeps matt where he stands until they're face to face.
the man almost reminds matt of stick, in some strange way.
matt has to tilt his head up to pretend like he can look at the man - he doesn't think he quite got it, his head still hurts from the gunshot, but it'll have to be good enough, and it's nighttime anyway.
"You're blind."
the man's voice is hoarse. his accent is strange, and matt's still trying to wrap his head around it when he registers what the man has said. he steps back, reflex, stick's training come back to save him, but his foot only finds empty air. he totters on the edge, and the man's hand shoots out to grab him.
the man's hand is cold and hard - metal, a prosthetic, that's what he'd heard - but it's oddly gently on matt's arm. the man pulls him back onto the rooftop. he's frowning down at matt when he asks, "Where are your handlers?"
"I don't have a handler."
the words slip out before matt can stop them. it's the way the man speaks, a rising tone in his voice that has matt thinking of a military man, someone who might have issued orders and expected to see them obeyed, years and years ago. almost like stick and - oh, is that what this man means? that explains everything.
this is a test.
matt figured it out days ago, but it's so good to be proven right - he's been left here so stick can see how he fares on his own. this is to see if he'll come back when stick's people ask - matt doesn't exactly know who stick's people are, but this man has to have known somehow that matt is going to be a soldier. so matt straightens up, because now he can prove just how well stick trained him, he can be good, he's not worthless, and he asks, "Do you mean Stick?"

the soldier doesn't know what stick is, or who, rather, but the boy bites his lip like he has something welling up inside him. the soldier waits, and lets the silence wring the words out of him.
"Stick left. He said I wasn't good enough. Are you going to be training me now?"
the soldier pauses.
his memory - he tears through the scraps he has in the back of his mind, being woken from the cold, his orders, the dossier for his target, but not a word from his handlers about a new soldier to train. he hasn't trained one since he was transferred from - from - where was it again? where he'd trained those little girls so long ago, what were their names?
"No, I'm not," the soldier says, because his handlers are many things - many things that it isn't his place as a soldier to think of - but they would not forget to give him his orders. no, this is not his boy to train, he's a witness to be killed, and then the soldier has to go - oh, he's late, he's late, the police will be coming soon and he has to go now, oh his handlers will not be pleased -
"Are you sure?" the boy asks, because this can't be it, this can't be the end, this is a test, if he just tries again, maybe -
and suddenly the soldier isn't so sure anymore. the boy's tilting his head, waiting for the soldier's reply, because yes, this boy is blind. he couldn't be a witness, could he? he couldn't have seen a thing, he could never lead the police back to the soldier. not this boy, who reminds him so much of the boy from before, the one who was small and sick before - before -
no, that boy isn't here now. the boy before him has brown hair, and there's muscle on his bones, like what the soldier had trained into those girls from his mission from so long ago. this one has no handler, wouldn't have any parents either, if what he remembers about those girls is correct - natalia, that was one of them, that's right. no handler, no home, it'd be a mercy to kill the boy, even if he isn't a witness.
the blonde boy didn't have anyone to look after him either. he died alone, drowned out on a frozen sea, because the soldier hadn't been there - he remembers that, he remembers being told, he remembers sobbing and screaming because that boy, he'd meant something to him, and now the soldier can't remember what that boy had been.
that blonde boy isn't this one. no, the blonde boy is dead and gone, because the soldier hadn't been there, hadn't been there to watch his back and keep him from picking that one last fight. but this boy, this scrawny blind boy who'd fought and fought even when the knife had been at his throat -
the soldier can look after this one.
this one doesn't have to die.
his handlers - his handlers will let him keep this boy, won't they?. they let him look after the girls, and he remembers - he remembers the natalia - or was it natasha? - she made it. she survived. and if they let him train the boy - he'll live. he'll live and he won't die cold and alone where the soldier can't reach him.
yes, yes, these aren't his orders, but this is better than orders. he's thinking. some of his old handlers had liked that, though others had stripped it from him with that chair. his handlers now - he doesn't know, they aren't like the ones who let them have the girls - but he'll bring the boy back to them, and the boy can be another soldier, like the girls, his old handlers had loved those girls - the pride and joy of red room, they'd been. his handlers now will be pleased, and he can look after the boy. it will be perfect.
he crouches down to eye level - instinct, silly, now that he thinks about it - and holds out his hand to the boy who's waited so patiently, fidgeting with nervous energy while he waited for the soldier to finish pulling his thoughts together.
the soldier asks, "What's your name?"
names are always a good place to start. the soldier can't remember his own, he never needed one, but the girls had had names. his boy will have a name, too.
"Matt. Matt Murdock." the boy - Matt - says in a a clear voice, steady despite the cold metal hand reaching out to him.
"Matt Murdock, will you come with me?" the soldier asks.
and Matt, well, he says, "Yes."

Not AYRT, first Anon not including OP, if that makes sense?: YES THERE'S MORE *happy flail*

Ahh this makes a lot of sense, Matt denying that Stick's left forever, Bucky having Red Room flashbacks because even though he shouldn't remember those he must've trained the girls for a very long time so it's a hard memory to completely erase.

Just had a thought, when Bucky returns to the handlers, Matt can pinpoint and relay every single one of Bucky's injuries since Bucky tends to underestimate how much pain he's in. Can even tell when the arm's not working properly from sound.

the soldier leads matt down a fire escape and onto the street.
they walk fast, because the handlers might be happy with soldier bringing matt to them, but they won't be happy with him for being late. matt's mask is long gone. he tossed it into an alley the moment they hit the sidewalk. he's gasping for breath beside the soldier, barely keeping up, but he doesn't say a word of complaint. the soldier has to slow down when matt takes his hand, and he nearly ends up dragging the boy off his feet.
it's a cover - the rest of the world will see a man leading his son home, and they won't think to look for a metal arm beneath the soldier's jacket. this cover hasn't been ordered - he had one he was supposed to use if he was stopped on his way back, but it didn't account for matt - but he's judged the punishment for straying from his orders to be worth keeping matt close to him. matt didn't seem to mind the charade, because he squeezes the soldier's hand and smiles up at him. he takes a while to catch his breath, but when it comes to him, he speaks quietly, mindful of the people they pass. "Where are we going?"
"Back to my handlers." the soldier glances down at him. something rises up in his throat, catching in it, and he surprises himself when he continues. "My mission is over. I have to report back."
he hasn't spoken without prompting in years, or maybe even never before. but his boy must sense how his heart starts to race at the thought - not good, not good, this goes against orders - because his boy tugs on his hand and asks, "Where are you from?"
the name jumps to the soldier's lips without hesitation - he knows this, this is good, this is safe territory. "Moscow."
"Are you sure?" and the soldier pauses midstride to look down at his boy because yes, he's sure of this, or at least he thought he was, because matt has him questioning himself. and then there his boy is again, chattering on and breaking him out of his thoughts before he even begins to lose himself.
"You kind of sound like you might be from around here."
the soldier doesn't have anything to say to that. he knows he isn't from around here. but he recognizes the streets, recognizes a man they pass - the one who folds up his newspaper, stands from the bench, and starts to trail after them. one of his handlers' people.
matt tilts his head at the soldier's side, and tugs on his hand. bucky doesn't move his head, only hums, quietly, to let his boy know he noticed.
"He has a gun," matt says and he's nearly too quiet for the soldier to hear. "What do we do?"
"Nothing." and the soldier hushes matt's worried complaint.
the soldier's grip on matt's hand tightens when he leads them down into the alley. his handlers' man stops in the opening behind them, blocking it off, reaching for the phone the soldier knows is in his pocket. the soldier knows what's waiting for them when they get to the end, knows what his boy must hear when he tilts his head.
so the soldier stops. he stops in the middle of the alley and crouches down to matt's level. it's a struggle to bring the words forward, but it has to be done, because he knows what the consequences will be if doesn't. "Do what they say," he tells matt, and matt's looking up at him with his big brown eyes, and he nods, so he must know what the consequences will be, too. their handlers must not have been different, in that at least.
the soldier nods back and stands, just as the man at the opening of the alley takes a step toward them. the soldier takes matt's hand and tugs him along, lets the man on their heels drive them toward the end of the alley. the van that will take them to the safehouse pulls up, and hydra's men don't wait for it to come to a complete halt before they open the doors. they raise their rifles, advancing as one towards the soldier and his boy, and matt tenses at the soldier's side, but he doesn't make a move, doesn't even make a sound. good, good, that's good, learning quick will keep him alive, but hydra's men don't know matt. the soldier will have to watch over him carefully. all he can hope for is that they let him speak to his handlers before they kill matt. but matt can't wait, not with half a dozen rifles already aimed at him, so the soldier pulls him closer, close enough to shield with his own body if he has to, and bows his head and waits to be ordered into the van.

(and now skipping ahead a bit, to after matt names bucky, because writing from beginning to end is beyond me.)

matt spends the rest of the night whispering to bucky. bucky listens quietly, eating up the words, and matt gives them freely, telling him how he'd been left in the dust and how hard he'd tried to be good enough. there's a guard passing the cell - this place wasn't built for abilities like matt's. matt can hear the footsteps past the metal door separating them, and matt can hear him complaining to the other guard patrolling with him.
so have the bosses decided what we're supposed to do, yet? we can't keep them there forever - this is a safehouse not a holding facility. fuck, we barely have the equipment to contain winter if his programming throws a fit, let alone if he goes into a rage and tries to kill us all because someone looked at his kid funny.
the guards keep walking, and the sound fades with them. matt lets it go, there's no reason to listen if they haven't decided what to do with him yet. instead, he pulls bucky's arm over him like a blanket, and even though bucky knows the boy is cold by how he trembles, he doesn't complain. the blankets they have are thin and lifeless, no better than the clothes on their backs. the only thing bucky can do for his boy is act as a barrier between him and the cold, concrete wall trying to sap the warmth from his bones. matt starts whispering again, on and on about his lessons, how stick taught him to use what senses he has left, and bucky files it all away in the back of his mind. he already has an idea of where to go with matt's training - reworking matt's form to begin with. the girls already had the grace of ballerinas when they were given over to him, and a boxer's stance won't work with all that bucky has in mind, especially not the knife fighting.
he's shocked out of his musing by matt suddenly going quiet. bucky listened, but his boy's breath was coming too fast for him to be asleep. bucky shifted, giving his boy a nudge, matt took the hint to let bucky know he was still alive.
"I-I was thinking," he says, and his voice is somehow even quieter. bucky doesn't even catch half of what he says and matt has to repeat it. "I was thinking about Stick. Is he going to come back?"
bucky shakes his head, and matt goes quiet. stick was gone, and he'd never planned to come back - bucky knew his type. trainers didn't stick around forever, especially not for failures, which he has to assume his boy was, but he doesn't tell matt that. no, that was before, and it's not matt's fault his trainer couldn't teach him. bucky will look after matt, teach him right, fix what stick had broken.
he spends the rest of the night awake, going over his plans for matt's future, while his boy falls asleep safe and sound in his arms.

Ahhh, I'm loving these so much! Any chance they'll get uploaded to AO3 perhaps? (That ways they can sorta go in order? xD)

Matt being able to tell Bucky's accent isn't Russian, clever! I didn't think of that. I bet it's not something HYDRA trained out of him in normal speak and it certainly helps him blend in.
And Bucky of course already coming up with a training regime. Already going into full fledged protective mode.

Keep up the good work, THESE ARE AWESOME <3

I think I will, but I'll have to rewrite this first, put in capitalization and stop being such a lazy. This is definitely going into another thread because the disorganization is driving me mad. I'll post again in a few days with everything fixed up and nicely ordered, plus actually moving on with the story. And thank you for the comment! Knowing that someone likes this weird thing really helps keep me going

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Daredevil Prompt Post #9

Re: Gen: Winter Soldier trains Matt

Re: Gen: Winter Soldier trains Matt

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